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 |  A sporadic account of my reaction to life. |
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Over the years I have sporadically attempted to keep a journal. Each attempt has failed miserably. I think they expired because I established rules that were too ridgid for them. So, this attempt will bring with it very few rules. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** There are many incredibly kind and thoughtful people in WDC. One of them is zwisis. Out of the blue she sent me this flower gift. It reminds me of the Bluebonnets of Texas. Thanks, Sarah. And, I must not forget the very talented katherine76 who created the flower...thank you. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Well, it appears that my blog is going to the dogs. It aslo seems as if folks have gotten me pegged as a dog lover....they're right. Our very own Anyea   has gifted me with this Valentine card. Now I ask you, "How sweet is that?" Thanks, Anyea  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I have been fortunate to encounter many generous and kind people during my tenure in WDC. Debi Wharton is one of them. She gifted me with the following sig. It shows how sensitive and caring she is. It also shows that she read some my entries. She'll never know how much I appreciate the gift and the attention to my blog. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: Social Security—What’s Wrong With This Picture? Date: February 2, 2009, Monday Thought: The government has mismanaged our funds with monumental distain for our future. In fact, it sometimes seems they have conspired to relieve us of any opportunity to collect it. Jog: This is just a little rant today. There will be nothing gained from it. The government will surely not change and my fortunes will certainly not be increased. However, for some reason I will feel better. Well, that is as soon as a few of you send comments in saying you agree with me. So there’s your marching orders: agree with me on this one. windac mentioned in her blog entry yesterday about the need to keep working until 72 because the lousy economy and the Social Security were defaulting on their part of supporting us through our sunset years. Well, she kicked that soapbox right to me and I proceeded to climb right on. It is really a terrible situation when a person works all his life paying into a program and then is postured out of receiving the result of all his hard work. I’ve been paying into the Social Security program since I was sixteen years old. For those of you who don’t want to do the math, that’s forty-four years. Add to that the funds Linda has contributed and our combined contribution is significant. In fact, if we had that amount and was permitted to invest it on our own we would be wealthy indeed. But, that is not going to happen. No the Federal government is hell-bent on taking care of us. They are going to manage the money we paid into the program for all those years, whether we like it or not. You see, they think it is their money. It isn’t, but try to tell them that. Now, I could live with a reasonable degree of mismanagement; after all, we all screw up every now and then. But, the government has mismanaged our funds with monumental distain for our future. In fact, it sometimes seems they have conspired to relieve us of any opportunity to collect it—Wait a moment while I recover my senses. I have these fits of insanity when I even think about it. It appears the Federal government has concocted a plan to release our funds to us based upon THEIR idea of what we need. Forget any consideration of what we deserve or what we actually contributed to the thing. Nope, the formula seems to say you will receive only a small percentage of what you paid in because we want to give it away to others who did not work their ass off for forty-five years. It seems as if they have committed to give me this same piddling amount, in the form of one subsidy or another, whether I worked or not. In fact, I could still get my allocated amount if I had saved myself the effort of being productive for half a century. The real joke is that the amount they are willing to provide me to support me through those sunset years is well beneath the poverty level. OK, let’s go on. Let’s say I reluctantly accept the paltry amount they are willing to reimburse to me. Let’s say I dutifully step into the line and wait for my payment. I find then that they have strings. Yes, even to receive the stipend allotted to me comes with strings. For, at the age of sixty-two I can begin to receive a portion of what I will receive at age sixty-five but in a lesser amount. The condition is that I am restricted from earning anything else on the side, at least anything of any substance. That’s right! I will be permitted to receive the dole as long as I promise I won’t make enough money to support myself—Even if I am able! Now what kind of system encourages people to NOT be productive. The other calculation they have made is that the government is planning on you dying and not collecting your hard earned funds. Yup, that’s right. They say, “If you wait until you turn 72 to collect anything we will pay you more!” They are wagering you will not live that long. What else can I say about that? I am one of the lucky ones in this world. I am doing something that I enjoy doing. When I retire I want to keep on doing this at a reduced volume. I do it because it is very rewarding. However, I find myself in the situation where I am in danger of making too much money and being penalized by receiving a reduction of the funds I am entitled to from half a century of work. By simply receiving the income from my investments, I run dangerously close to the permitted amount of money I can make, which remember thoughtfully keeps me below the poverty level. It is almost guaranteed that I am destined to be required to continue working because I can make more money by not collecting my Social Security than I can by collecting the stuff. In effect the Federal government is saying, “You may receive payments that comfortably keep you below the poverty level; if you wish to live above the poverty level, feel free to do that. However, we will give you nothing then, and all you have contributed will be ours.” I’ve resigned myself to that fact. However, what distresses me is the way the government squanders the funds I collected. I certainly am not excited about any of it going to the Stimulus Package. In fact, I wish I could direct my funds to specific individuals who I know will benefit from it. If I could designate the recipient, I would be pleased. But that is a dream. There is no way that the government will agree with my idea of fairness. My final observation is that Social Security is only partially correct. It has little to do with security and is almost totally social. And, so I suppose I will just live with it. After all what choice do any of us have. |
| Title: Voice From the Past Date: January 30, 2009, Friday Thought: Sometimes I wish we could have two lives: one to rush through doing the mundane things that we consider important and the other to savor and cherish the times we count as insignificant. Jog: It was a voice from the past that boomed with so much exuberance over the phone. In good natured banter the voice accused me of forgetting him and chastised me for not calling him in ages. It took a moment as I tried to register the voice in my memory. Try as hard as I could it would not click. Finally, I had to just interrupt. “Who the heck am I talking too?” I chuckled over the phone. That elicited more harassment and then he told me, “It’s Phil.” That’s all he had to say. My expression changed to excitement and a smile spread on my face immediately. You see, Phil is one of my favorite people. He was out driving from Wetherford to Mansfield, a town located near me, and just thought he’d give me a jingle. I’m so glad he did. I miss him terribly and was warmed by his call. Years ago Phil and I used to play handball in the court located in the football stadium at the University of Oklahoma. That was a day and age when it was easy to access the court. There were no waiting lines and the thing was open 24-hours daily. I would be at home in bed, somewhere near midnight, and I’d get a call from Phil. “Hey, Dan! What you doin’?” Sleepily I’d respond, “I’m mowing the lawn. What’d ya think I’m doin’?” “Well, put your clothes on and let’s play handball.” Which is code for, “I need to talk. You got time for me?” And so at midnight, Phil and I would drive to the deserted stadium, slap that handball around the court, run into the walls, and bounce that hard-ass ball off the back of each others heads. Afterwards we would spend an hour or so discussing some issue or problem that, at that moment, seemed bigger than we were individually. However, together we always seemed to find a solution. And then, when it was time for us to return to our homes, we would hold hands and pray for each other. That was quite a scene. Two sweaty, grown men, holding hands and praying. I would not take a million dollars for the memories. Of all the glorious sights I’ve seen and the fancy places I’ve been, I don’t know of many that could equal that smelly handball court in the early morning hours. That was 35-years ago. We eventually went our separate ways, driven by fate and circumstances. Recently, Phil moved closer to where I now live. A lot has changed in 35-years. However the bond between us remains strong. We don’t play handball anymore. We would both need paramedics if we even attempted it. In fact, Phil is physically in a bad way. He’s dying. The doctor told him that if there was anything he really wanted to do or see, he had better be doing it. In the near future he will be homebound and soon after that bedfast. It was good to hear from him. It was good to hear the joy and exuberance in his voice, similar to those times he would call me at midnight. I’ve decided that I will try to spend more time with him. Maybe we can hold hands and have a prayer again. I know I’d like that. I know this is part of life’s cycle. Loved ones and friends grow older and they begin passing one at a time. As we grow older it happens with more regularity. I haven’t lost many of my dear friends. As sure as the day rises and the sun sets, I will. This isn’t meant to be a sad entry. It certainly isn’t intended to be depressing by any means. It is just a little bite of reality. It is an opportunity to celebrate the glorious things that have happened in our lives. It’s a time to remember what we mean when we talk about the good ole days. And, it should give us a little hope in what tomorrow can bring, for we still have opportunities to create more good times. Sometimes I wish we could have two lives: one to rush through doing the mundane things that we consider important and the other to savor and cherish the times we count as insignificant. But, we only have one life to live. I’m happy with the blessings I’ve been given thus far and mindful of the precious little moments that we often consider insignificant. Thanks for the call, Phil. |
| Title: Being Up To The Task Date: January 29, 2009, Thursday Thought: I have become exhilarated at my own words. That doesn’t mean the material has been any good; it just means that I have received great joy from the exercise. Jog: Some mornings I paddle into my office and stare blurry-eyed at my computer screen and know that I’m just not up to the task. So, instead of writing some profound piece of brilliance, I read a few chosen blogs and confirm that I am certainly not up to the task. It amazes me how easily the words flow for some of the writers here in WDC. At least it appears that it is easy, because they do it so dang often. Occasionally, I will stumble into moments of clarity where I say exactly what I want to say in just the right way. But, believe me, it was a stumble. How I envy the young authors I see on the back of the dust covers of their books. To be so talented and young seems to be unfair, for my own talent is limited and youth is just a memory to me. I can’t escape the feeling that I have entered the race after the starting gun has long ago started the race. Why I have determined in my sixth decade to become an author when thirty-five years ago it would have been better timed, is a loss to me. Why is it that confidence and wisdom comes with age, arriving somewhere around the time energy and motivation have dwindled? It seems to be some wicked joke of nature. However, in spite of the reality of my current circumstances, I have determined to make the best of it and continue to write for selfish reasons. You see, it has been within the last decade that I have truly dedicated myself to writing. During that period, I have fallen in love with the written word. I’ve always been pleased with reading a well penned piece. But, more than that, I have become exhilarated at my own words. That doesn’t mean the material has been any good; it just means that I have received great joy from the exercise. Perhaps that is the secret of this thing we do—this writing. It makes us happy. If it also makes us wealthy, well, I would take that as a bonus. But, most of us would affirm that we are not in this for the money alone. There are other reasons why we write. Each of us could write volumes about that. Suffice it to say, it makes me happy. I suppose this means that it really does not matter if I’m up to the task of writing. I have no standard I am required to uphold nor any precious possession to lose, All I have is gain. As long as I can shake a bag full of words together and produce a legible sentence, I win. Even at this advanced age, the words can still be new. We, who call ourselves authors, can experience the vibrance and vitality of youth through the words born on the page—or screen if you are computer literate. Perhaps that is another reason we write. The words on the written page do not show signs of age, regardless of the age of the author. They may reflect the wisdom of the person and even hint at their maturity, but the words themselves are fresh and new every time someone reads them for the first time. And, that my friend, is almost as good as the fountain of youth. If only the words could do something about this soreness in my joints, they would then be perfect. Sore joints or not, I will push the question of being up to the task out of my mind. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is the words keep flowing onto the page. With that thought, I suppose I can assume I’m up to the task—at least for today. |
| Title: Feeling Better Date: January 27, 2009, Tuesday Thought: I’m one of those folks who, after opening their eyes, keeps them open. Jog: You guys make me feel better. Yeah, you do. Like everyone else, I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind. I have responsibilities at work and home, health issues that I’m constantly dealing with, and the same dread of the economic future that 300 million other Americans have hanging over them. The bottom line is that all this stuff in my life plays havoc on my sleep time. There was a day when I hit the sack at the end of the day, whenever that occurred, and it was lights out until the early morning. I would wake drowsily but well rested after a full nights sleep. Well, those days are long gone. I can’t remember the last time I got a full eight hours of sleep—just doesn’t happen. My limit for uninterrupted sleep is about six hours. Usually I wake after only four hours. At times I can force myself to go back to sleep and wrest another two or even three hours. But, usually, I realize that it is useless to try to reclaim my blissful slumber and just get up. I’m one of those folks who, after opening their eyes, keeps them open. I’ve found if I go to the computer and browse WDC for a little while, read a book or some of my writing, check the stock market and chart my portfolio’s progress, do a little work on some city project, or just occupy my mind on something I can usually go back to bed after an hour or so. This morning I said a little prayer for Eric. Therefore, if you check the time of my entries you may find some early morning hours in there. The interesting thing is, after doing that, I usually feel better and can go to sleep without the thoughts bouncing off the walls of my cranium. That’s why you guys make me feel better. I get to visit with a few friends, write something creative, chuckle at some of the comedy thrown out in your entries. Occasionally, I get to return the favor; and that makes it very rewarding indeed. I don’t need a lot of sleep. I can get by very well on six hours. It is fortunate that I can, because I am unwilling to give up these early morning hours with myself, enjoying my friends. You just make me feel better. Oh, yeah, I’m not alone at that time. Max, always joins me. Although the black butted dog usually curls up and snores as I work. That’s not a bad thing. I think I’ll stumble back to bed. I’m a little sleepy and I’ve gotten my early morning fix. |
| Title: Hail to the Chief Date: January 20, 2009, Tuesday Thought: There is no doubt this is a historic moment. A black man will ascend into the office of President. It is a momentous occasion and we all are fortunate to witness this happening. Jog: There is a great celebration on this day. Millions of blogs will record the elation, pride, and angst of the writers of those blogs. I am tired of the giddiness of the media as they examine every facet of Obama taking office. There is no doubt this is a historic moment. A black man will ascend into the office of President. It is a momentous occasion and we all are fortunate to witness this happening. But, folks it is not the last ‘first’ for this office. Someday we will have the first woman, the first Asian, the first Native American and even the first gay. Of course, this first is especially meaningful given our history of segregation and prejudice toward people of color in this nation. I am proud I am able to see this happen. But, it really doesn’t matter to me that Obama is a black man. That is immaterial, unless you believe the color of a persons skin has significance. No, what is important is that he is a good man, a man of strength, courage, and insight. If he is indeed that man then we will all benefit from this historic occasion. However, I am disturbed by the rancor and hostility still directed toward the man we have called our President for the last eight years. The vehemence and out right hate of George Bush is alarming. The persistent allegations that he is an evil man who lied to the American people and duped the world will not cease with the termination of his administration. As I watched Nancy Pelosi lobby for investigations of various elements of the Bush administration, it confirmed to me the political hatred one side has for the other. Do I believe George Bush is a saint? No not at all. I am convinced that ultimately, when removed from the mantle of the title of President, we will find he is just a man. I firmly believe there is no evil in him. I do not believe he has conspired to betray the American people for his own gain. He certainly is not perfect. However, he has never claimed to be perfect. He has willingly and passionately admitted that he has made mistakes. Were they costly mistakes? Of course they were. Will they cost him dearly regarding his legacy? Probably. But, were they malicious? No. Whether or not you like the man, history will tell us he was a good man doing what he felt was right. It is also interesting that in the moments he acted decisively, he did so not concerned with what anyone would think of him. He acted in what he felt was the best interest of the American people. And, I’m glad he did. Eight years ago he promised that he would keep me and my family safe. Under much criticism regarding his means, he has done that. There has been no further attacks on the soil of America. And, don’t believe for a moment it is because our enemies did not wish to do so. No, they were prevented from doing so. I don’t know what Mr. Bush’s legacy will be. I will not be surprised if history treats him much better than the media. That was the case with Ronald Regan. The media painted him as a bumpkin. History is now revealing greatness in the man. Only time will tell for Bush. I am disappointed at some of the blogs I’ve read this morning. Several have gloried in the fact that George Bush has left the White House. At times it appears the emotions are more against Bush than for expectation of a new era with Obama. Hatred is a nasty emotion. It is all consuming, tainting the glorious things that are happening around them and making less of a truly remarkable occasion. It is no secret that my vote was not for Mr. Obama. But that doesn’t matter now. He is my President. He is worthy of my respect and support and I intend to give him the benefit of the doubt on every decision. For, I honestly believe he is a good man. I believe he truly wants to do the best he can for each and every American—just like the guy who held that office before him. I will probably not agree with his methods, in fact I already have problems with some of them. But, never will I call him names and spew hate at him. If I have a problem with him, I’ll just vote for someone else when I get the opportunity. Isn’t this a great system? |
| Title: Stepping Out of the Comfort Zone Date: January 19, 2009, Monday Thought: I need to continually look beyond the limits of my comfort zone, to the high grass, constantly expanding my comfort zone. That’s where the rewards are found. Jog: There is a place in each of our lives that is called the comfort zone. That’s where we feel safest. In that place the world can’t touch us. Most of us identify that place as being our home—our sanctuary. But, we also have a comfort zone in other aspects of our lives. At work I have a comfort zoning and at play there is a comfort zone. In that zone the familiar rules. The familiar things of the past are considered the most secure, because we know the results; the unknown is minimized. So it is we strive to stay in our comfort zone, where it is safe. Now, what’s so bad about that? Security is a good thing—isn’t it? The chances of being hurt are greatly reduced when we are in our comfort zone. Unfortunately, living continuously in the comfort zone is not very rewarding, other than for the feeling of security that it gives, which at times is a false feeling. Remember, it is only when the great ships sail out of the safety of the harbor that great things are possible. For great ships were not made to sit in the harbor, they were made to sail the open seas, where the unknown is ever present and all manner of things are possible. We have to force ourselves leave our comfort zone. We don’t do it naturally; it must be a conscious decision to do so. It’s like sky-diving; why in the world would anyone want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Without the jump there is no exhilaration of the freefall—no reward. Fortunately, there are other ways to expand our comfort zone than jumping out of airplanes. I was reminded of this during my walk with Max this morning. The harsh cold of winter has eased for a moment and the morning was refreshingly chilly and pleasant. So, Max and I walked a little further in the woods than we usually do on the cold days. I walked down the path where it was easy to walk, where I knew the path was safe, where it was smooth and sure. But, I noticed Max had decided to enter the high grass, forego the smooth surface of the trail. He bounded through the high grass finding hidden scents and places where the critters stirred, carrying his tail high and snorting as he scampered through the grass. He came back to me with a few briars stuck in his hair and I noticed he had to stop a couple of times to extract a sticker wedged in his paws. However, he gladly endured the obstacles and even the pain hidden in the high grass. His path in the grass was full of wonders; mine on the smooth path was not, except for the wonder of watching him. He reminded me that there are times we need to leave the even, smooth, and safe path of the trail and walk in the high grass. I’ve noticed the rewards in life are almost always found when we leave our comfort zone. When we do that we find our world is expanded, for the high grass of yesterday becomes the safe trail of today. Which means I need to continually look beyond the limits of my comfort zone, to the high grass, constantly expanding my comfort zone. That’s where the rewards are found, out in the high grass. I suppose this is a simple analogy. Nevertheless, regardless of its simplicity the truth rings through. I’ve reach the age where I believe I’ve pretty much arrived and have discovered the answers to living this life through my experiences, only to find I’m simply sitting in the harbor and just walking along the easy path. It’s never too late to leave the harbor and to walk in the high grass. As long as we have the ability to learn and succeed, we need to be setting our sights on the horizons and exploring the high grass. That’s what my dog reminded me of again today. I’ll always see him in my mind, not walking along the trail, but out there in the high grass. I believe that’s what he was created for, to explore the high grass. And, I also believe that’s what we are to do. Each of us is destined for greatness. Of course, there are different understandings of what greatness is. Whatever your understanding of it is, I believe that you and I are destined for it--greatness is found in the high grass. That’s the way we need to live, always looking for opportunities to expand our comfort zone out in the high grass. |
| Title: Can’t Just Put it Out of My Mind Date: January 18, 2009, Sunday Thought: There are some who in the name of critical license, rip your stuff to shreds. I’ve found I have no stomach for that. Jog: Well, I’ve tried to just put it out of my mind. I haven’t been too successful, because I find myself thinking about it every now and then. I’m talking about the fact that I have a synopsis of my book being reviewed by a publisher. They’ve never been interested past the initial enquiry before. Usually, I get one of those form letters saying, “We’re sorry your stuff doesn’t fit our needs. Try again later with something new.” Well, this last time I got a form letter that said, “We’re interested in what you’ve got. Send us a synopsis of the book and the first three chapters. We’ll decide after we read them if you’re worth going to the next step.” Certainly, I’m pleased to have gotten this far. I really don’t expect them to take it any further. Even though I hope that for some reason they choose to. The thing is that I can’t quite put it out of my mind. Of course, reality says that if they do publish the dang thing it will be in paperback and a low volume seller. I doubt very seriously if I will make any real money from it. But, right now, the money doesn’t really mean much. What counts is that somewhere, someone liked my stuff well enough to say, “I’ll consider it.” You see the problem with friends and loved ones reading your stuff is they are prejudice. They like your stuff because its yours. Even when they say they are being totally objective, they’re not. And, it’s not their fault; they just can’t help it. They start out reading your stuff liking it; they want to like it. So, even when it stinks, they are looking for the good points and slant the comments that way. There are a few reviewers in WDC who will give your work a thorough and critical review. I suppose most of those are well meaning and pretty good. But, I’ve found a few of them who are brutal. There are some who in the name of critical license, rip your stuff to shreds. I’ve found I have no stomach for that. If it is bad enough to warrant a massacre of monumental proportion, I’d just rather they said, “This work, although well intended, does not meet the standard of style and form to warrant any further review. Although you probably posses great talent, it just is not evident by this piece…sorry.” I call this being tenderly brutal. I do not appreciate every comma and grammar flaw being pointed out and an in-depth discussion of my skill in presenting the story. If it doesn’t work just say it doesn’t work. That is why I do not solicit reviews in WDC, at least not from the review forums. If someone pops into my portfolio and randomly reads my work, I am more than willing to receive their comments. In fact, those are the comments I most prefer. Likewise, I have decided to not make long-winded reviews that are super critical. I don’t use review forms that profess comprehensive treatment of every grammar rule and writing style. I’ve come to just comment on if I like it and tell them why. I will point out isolated typos and glaring issues, but keep it pretty simple. If I don’t like it I rarely comment. I expect I will receive a form letter back from the publisher informing me of my next step. If they want to see more of my stuff, I suppose we will get more personal. I don’t really know; I’ve never gotten that far before. It’s just that this keeps popping up in my mind. I suppose that makes me human. |
| Title: They Keep Growing Date: January 16, 2009, Friday Thought: I did not give them permission to get that way. I did not tell them I was finished with giggles and running through the house. Jog: OK, who gave them permission to grow up? I’m talking about my grandkids, dang it! We’ve got this little tradition. Actually, no one knows it’s a tradition cause its only been happening since 2003. And, I’m not sure I’ve registered it as a bona fide tradition with the authorities; but I’m dang sure going to, as soon as I get a chance. Anyway I’ve got this tradition of taking a photograph of my grandkids laying in the dining room floor. Now, I know that doesn’t sound like much of a tradition; but, you work with what you have. So, bear with me. Back in 2003 during the Christmas season I took a photo of my grandkids lined up on our dining room floor. Now, I loved that photograph so much that I took one the next year—same pose, same position-- and purposed to take another each year after that. I don’t know what happened to the ones I took in 2005 and 2006, but I did manage to take another one in 2008. Oh! I remember, 2007 was in a different position. Anyway, I took that photo just this last Christmas and put the previous photos together so I could see the changes over the years. Dang it! They’re growing up. I can see the young adults that they will soon be—happening right there in front of my eyes. They are absolutely beautiful. But, I did not give them permission to get that way. I did not tell them I was finished with giggles and running through the house. No one asked me if they could start dating, and driving, and getting ready to go to college. Since when are kids permitted to grow up without my permission? Having no respect for my feelings they up and did it anyway. I’ll have you know, I’ll be watching closely from now on! Here’s the earliest (2003) and latest (2008) of the compilation. I’ll be doing this as long as I can point the camera and click. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Title: A Shameless Political Rant Date: January 15, 2009, Thursday Thought: I find that I walk a narrow line between flaming liberal and hard-nosed conservative Jog: I find myself in an awkward position. I’m smack dab in the middle of a liberal profession that supports government regulation regarding zoning and development. Now, if I were a flaming liberal that would be no problem at all. But, I’m not. I’m a bona fide, card-carrying, right wing, conservative capitalist who thinks big government is strangling our nation and eroding our freedom. Yup that’s me. So, how, you may ask, can I support such an evil concept such as zoning and development regulations. Shouldn’t a man, or woman for that case, be allowed to do as they dang well please with the property they worked their butts off to buy? Shouldn’t they? Of course they should. Unless by chance what they do with that property destroys the livelihood and value of the property of everyone else located around them. In other words you are not free to profit from what you do at the expense of everyone else. If your profit means everyone around you goes bankrupt, where is the fairness in that? I find that I walk a narrow line between flaming liberal and hard-nosed conservative. As much as I hate to have rules and regulations, I’ve come to realize good regulations give all of us an opportunity to make the best out of what we have. Good regulations help us protect what we have worked to obtain. And, so I find myself preparing zoning regulations that tell people what they can do on their property and how much, how high, how big, and how it will be constructed. To many that is the meddling hand of government in their business. Well, so be it. As much as I hate meddling government, there are times when it is necessary. So, what is the difference? How can I rightly call myself a conservative? Ah, scale is the answer. I believe regulations are best applied at the local level. I would be vehemently opposed to zoning regulations on the federal level. But, I wholeheartedly support zoning regulations on the municipal level. The federal government should regulate our armies, our interstate transportation systems, our relationships with foreign governments, coordination with police systems on the interstate level, and the interpretation of the constitution. All other federal involvement in our lives should be minimal. State government and local governments should handle the rest, and even they should be minimal. I do not support national health care, income tax, or legislation accomplished through the federal courts. The federal government charging to the rescue to bail out America’s corporate community is a suicide Banzai charge of the liberal left. They assault the financial and automotive industry headlong in a crazed devotion to spending money they do not have with the unreasonable expectation that all will be saved at the end of the charge. After all, if Oprah and Ron Howard are for it, who can be against it? I am afraid that we will find that there is only a more terrible cost with which to deal. But, so be it. It will be change after all, and that is what they were seeking, change. The remarkable thing is that my compadres, who feel as I do, see me as selling out to the dark-side, helping to flame the liberal fires of regulatory chaos by creating zoning laws. It is difficult to please everyone. I will continue to try to protect myself and my friends on the local level through local growth and development regulations, even though some can’t see the difference. Now let me see, which hat am I wearing today? |
| Title: He’s Just a Dog Date: January 12, 2009, Monday Thought: Within the recesses of his make-up, embedded through generations of breeding and running with the pack, he sees me as his pack leader. Jog: Hairy black butt—now, I know that doesn’t sound very appealing. But, that’s what’s laying across my feet as I type this entry. Most of you know instantly that I am, of course, referring to my black Lab, Max. He is my Velcro dog, because that’s how he sticks to my side. To say we are attached is an understatement. Me and that dog are now soul-mates. I’ve always liked dogs and have had several of them during my tenure in this life. I’ve been fond of them and even loved them. But, never has an animal made this type of connection with me. If I am home, and I’m home a lot, Max is by my side. Oh, he may wander off to eat, but even then he gets a mouthful and walks to the living room dropping several pieces of his dry dog food on the floor, eating it while watching to make sure I don’t leave the room. I can’t even have privacy in the bathroom. He wants to either go in there with me or lay outside the door protecting me in my vulnerable position, laying there with his head on his paws moving only his eyes as others walk down the hallway. Now, don’t get me wrong. He loves Linda and will sit for hours as she pets him. But, for some reason, I am the one he most wants to be with; I am his master. Within the recesses of his make-up, embedded through generations of breeding and running with the pack, he sees me as his pack leader. I know that. And, because he has yielded to me so completely, I feel a great responsibility towards this remarkable friendship. You see, he depends on me. He comes to me for sustenance, for affection, for protection, for reassurance and even for discipline. I try not to disappoint him. And, because we give so completely to each other, we have forged a bond between a dog and a man that is mutually rewarding. Those who have never experienced this relationship will consider it as being silly and even trivial. He’s just a dog, after all. All I know is that I cannot explain the relationship that this hairy black-butted dog and I have built. I also know it is not unusual. I am aware of countless other pet owners who have done the exact same thing. In that context It is ordinary and unremarkable. But, to me, as I watch him curl up at my feet and go to sleep trusting that I am watching over him, well it’s quite remarkable; and it fills my soul with wonder that another living being could feel this way towards me. Of course, my bride, Linda, and I have held a unique relationship for forty-two years. That is a wondrous thing in itself. She and I are so close that we think the same thoughts and hold the same interests. No relationship measures up to the one that Linda and I have. But, yet, the relationship Max and I share is special. Linda knows that and is not jealous about it, for she loves him also. I suppose Linda shares me with Max, because we, Linda and I, are all his has. Yup, I suppose that just about sums it up. I was just thinking about that dog, as he curled up on my feet…again. |
| Title: Musings of an Expert Witness Date: January 9, 2009, Friday Thought: I will be encouraged that any dunderhead can be successful, even if it takes a miracle. Jog: It is an interesting concept, the idea that I am so versed and experienced in a certain field to be considered an expert witness. That has occurred a few times previously in my profession, but not on many occasions, for certain. I have recently been engaged by an engineering firm to serve as an expert witness on zoning. Now, realize that it is merely a legal opinion. I have attained a status in the field of municipal planning, zoning to be particular, where what I say will be considered gospel. Undoubtedly, the opposing attorney will have his own witness who will profess he has another interpretation. It will then be up to the jury or judge to decide which expert to believe, which in turn will depend on our respective credentials. What makes me qualified to be an expert witness regarding municipal planning issues?--twenty-nine years of doing this stuff in the trenches. This kind of credential cannot be taught or bought, other than through the school of hard knocks. That’s what it takes to become an expert, at least one who measures up to and surpasses the other guy’s expert. And, for that privilege I finally get to be paid the big bucks…or at least bigger bucks. So, for a full days work I will earn $2000 daily. As high as that may seem, it is really small stuff in the world of expert witness consultants. But, I will gladly accept my $250 per hour fee as I wait in the outer room drinking coffee and working the crossword puzzle. I’ve earned it. Sitting here upon my credentials, I consider that young nineteen-year-old boy who graduated from a small town high school in Oklahoma so many years ago. Lord, was I totally clueless! I had no idea what in the world I wanted to make of myself. I possessed a very low self-esteem and was confident only in what I could see at that moment. I had no concept of what the future held and was clueless on how to find my direction. All that I knew was that I was free to fly on my own and was madly in love, or lust, with my high school sweetheart who is still with me today. I marvel at the strength she had to hook her star to my wagon; what a dangerous place for her to be. All I can assume is she was just as in love, or lust, with me, which in itself was an amazing thing. The thought today of that kid ever possessing the credentials to be an expert witness in a professional field is almost ludicrous. If it had not happened and had I not experienced it, I would not believe it myself. So, I stand as an example to those who are clueless and who have serious doubt that they will ever amount to a hill of beans. It can happen. It is truly a miracle that proves there is a God, for there has to be for me to be where I am today. I think, as I sit in that witness seat in my business suit, professing the things I know, impressing the court with my command of confusing zoning concepts, and earning my $250 per hours—as I sit there, I will be conscious of that clueless kid. And, I will be encouraged that any dunderhead can be successful, even if it takes a miracle. So, I guess that means we can all have hope. When you see some snot nosed high school kid making an idiot of himself in the mall parking lot, don’t despair; he’s on his way to being an expert witness--either that or the state penitentiary. Either way, It’ll just take a little time. |
| Title: Evolution of Invictus Date: January 7, 2009, Wednesday Thought: . For forty-five years I have been affected by that poem and have increased my understanding of it as the years have progressed. Jog: OK, here’s the question: Do you control how the coming year will fare for you or is is just a matter of chance? When I was a kid in high school I was introduced to William Ernest Henley’s Invictus. For forty-five years I have been affected by that poem and have increased my understanding of it as the years have progressed. Invictus was committed to memory in the tenth grade. I don’t remember who my tenth grade English teacher was, but I want to thank her for having me do that. That poem was one of the few things I’ve carried with me over the years. And although I struggled to understand its meaning, as I have grown older and experienced life’s ups and downs the words have become much more significant. I first thought it a dark poem dealing with things that were almost gothic in nature. Its words and phrases like “night that covers me”, ‘bludgeoning of chance”, “head is bloody”, “this place of wrath and tears”, ‘horror of the shade” first caused me to think of a beaten and defeated soul. But then I realized that this is a poem of victory and endurance. I suppose one of the most quoted phrases is found in the last two lines: “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.” And in those two lines is the victory if we chose to possess it. Do you control how the coming year will fare or is it a matter of chance? Well, I like to think we have the ability to control it, if we choose to do so. After all, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. Invictus Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley |
| Title: Keeping Our Bearings Date: January 5, 2009, Monday Thought: Likewise when nature calls, pardon me for talking bathroom chores here, I paddle my way through the darkness to one of our three bathrooms to do natures deed. Jog: I’ve lived in this house for almost twelve years now. I should know my way around in the dark. In fact, I think I’ve become pretty good at it. In the early morning hours I will often wake and not be able to go back to sleep. Usually it is because a myriad of ideas and concepts are racing through my mind; each one begging to be put on paper. I’ve found, at those times, the only thing to do is to get up and negotiate the darkness to my upstairs office. I then work with the light of the computer screen. I’ve found that works pretty good as long as I don’t need to read something in hardcopy. Likewise when nature calls, pardon me for talking bathroom chores here, I paddle my way through the darkness to one of our three bathrooms to do natures deed. That is, if I can keep from kicking a black dog who insists on sticking to me like Velcro. Now, you’d think the stairs would be a challenge; but they are not. It’s just that first step you need to get right. Well, during my nocturnal wanderings last night I finally showed my geriatric tendencies. I suppose I am an amusing sight dressed in my sleeping garb, which consist of blue sweatpants and a red sweatshirt that has Oklahoma University screaming across my chest. A also have some fuzzy red and white OU slippers that find their way to my feet on really cold nights, which was the case last night; it was cold. I had worked on the computer for about an hour in the wee of the morning and had to visit the john (bathroom.) I did not turn on the light because I have the house memorized. But, for some insane reason I chose to descend the stairs instead of using the facilities located on the second floor. I try to be quiet for I’ve discovered that the majority of humanity likes to sleep at 3:00am in the morning. But, in my frustration I let loose a solitary, “Damnit!!” It was loud enough to cause a response from Linda who was tucked snuggly in bed. “Danny, what’s wrong?” (She calls me Danny in tender and angry moments. I’m not sure which one this was.) “Damnit! I can’t find it!” was my response. “Good grief, Danny, you’ve lived here for twelve years; I’d think you’d be able to find the bathroom by now!” “No! You don’t understand! I put my bottoms on backwards and that’s why I can’t find it!” Needless to say, I soon figured out the wardrobe malfunction and found it. I heard a similar story about a kindergarten boy and thought it was cute. Somehow this doesn’t seem as cute. Now, tell me that isn’t a geriatric moment. Go ahead and tell me that could happen to the best of us—even the young, trim, and fit able-bodied of WDC. Go ahead—tell me. |
| Title: Thanks for the Birthday Greeting Date: January 2, 2009, Friday Thought: That means at least five of my stories have been read every single day for five years. I am truly honored and grateful for the opportunity. Jog: I was greeted this morning by a very nice email from the StoryMaster, wishing me a very happy fifth WDC birthday. You see, I became a WDC member on January 2, 2004. Now, no doubt the SoryMaster’s response to my birthday is a automated thing; this is the electronic age and the miracles of computers, after all. But, nevertheless I considered it a very thoughtful thing to do—and it makes good business sense to pat your clients on the back on special occasions. I must renew my membership by January 15th. This is not a difficult decision. There is no way in hell I’m going to lose the body of material I have developed over the last five years; and I dang sure don’t intend to download all that stuff on my computer. Although, I must admit I’ve got all that stuff stored somewhere in various forms or another. Well, the bottom line is that, of course, I’m going to renew my membership. But, I got to thinking about these last five years. I’ve accomplished a lot in the last five years. I’ve come to believe I’ve improved my writing skills dramatically. I certainly appreciate the talents of others more. I firmly believe my last five years in WDC has been worth four years in some college journalism program. And, believe me; I’ve attended enough college to know the benefit of those college courses. But, like I said, I got to thinking about those last five years and began jotting down some of the things I’ve accomplished during that time. I thought it would be interesting to mention some of them in this entry. The most obvious accomplishment is that I’ve managed to stay somewhat involved in the site for five years; that’s 1,827 days, including two ‘leap’ days. The interesting thing about that is the stats in WDC tell me I have logged into the site 2,077 times. That’s a little scary. Because I know there have been several times I did not log on in days. It has taken me five years to enter 273 items into my portfolio. Granted, a bunch of those are photos and images that have been used in my blog entries. But, of those 273 items forty-five of them are short stories. And twenty-four of those stories have received some sort of awardicon. I also have a bucketful of other writing, including a smidgen of poetry that sits outnumbered and insecure in my port. I have written a series of thirteen stories on Spam Hummer, which began as a single story spoof on early private eyes and turned into an enjoyable distraction from my other writing. I now have plans to fill in between the stories and make it into a book. And, speaking of books, I have written Across the River, which is currently being considered for publication by Dorchester Publishing Company. It amazes me that, to date, I’ve had 10,788 views of just the short stories and the Spam Hummer series. Who would have ever thought anyone would want to read any of my stuff. And, yet in here I find that someone has done it over ten-thousand times. That means at least five of my stories have been read every single day for five years. I am truly honored and grateful for the opportunity. Of course, I must not forget my blog, which I still insist on calling a ‘Jog” because ‘blog’ sounds so disgusting—like something you would wipe off the bottom of your shoe. I have created five separate hardbound journals of ‘jog’ entries written during each of the four successive years of my membership. I have now completed the fifth year and will have it printed and bound so it can take its place on my bookshelf. I suppose, most importantly, I save the last accomplishment for last. During this five year period I have met on-line a marvelous group of people. Some have moved into and out of my life. Others have remained there for the duration. My joy is that I am still meeting more and look forward to the next year to further those meetings and develop the ones I’ve already made. I have been fortunate to have met, face to face, with four of these friends and have talked to a few others on the telephone. If anyone has doubted the validity of friendships made over the Internet, you can rest assured that they are real and these friendships are just as meaningful as those outside the virtual community. These last four years have been a joy and those folks in WDC have been what has made it so. So, I will open my checkbook and gladly write my renewal check—actually, I will use my virtual credit card and PayPal. There is no doubt I have been rewarded by this site. As I wander through my portfolio I am impressed with what a person can do in five short years. |
| Title: The Power and Might of Christmas Date: December 25, 2008, Thursday, Christmas Day Thought: We will not go to say, “goodbye”; but, rather we go to say, “until we meet again.” Jog: The world is full of dichotomies. We see reports on the TV that show people giving wonderful gifts to the unfortunate and it is followed up by a report about vandals destroying the holiday decorations that adorn a yard. We have folks out there to whom money is no object, regarding Christmas purchases for their families, and on the other hand we have families faced with having nothing for Christmas, including Christmas dinner. Our lives are filled with both joy and sorrow. Hopefully, the joy that comes into our lives will overshadow the sorrow; even though when we are in the depth of despair it certainly seems that is not possible. On Christmas Eve my family, being my children and their children, all meet at our house for Christmas Eve meal and the opening of Christmas gifts. We are a small group, only nine total. But it is a joyous time. I am amazed that Linda and I, as a young couple stumbling through marriage forty-two years ago, are responsible for the lives eating and making merry around that big table. It truly amazes me. However, prior to that meal on Christmas Eve, we received a phone call that emphasizes this dichotomy with which we live. Yesterday morning, as I was helping Linda prepare for the gathering, I received a phone call. It was from our sister-in-law in Oklahoma. We never receive phone calls from her, never. Instantly, I was concerned about Linda’s ninety-two year old mother. I sometimes quickly and easily jump to conclusions. However, in this case it was a errant jump. However, she was indeed calling regarding a tragedy that was totally unexpected. It appears our nephew’s wife died the previous evening. The young lady was just thirty-nine years old. I could not believe my ears. But, unfortunately, it is the truth; Shona is gone. It seems that five weeks ago, one week before Thanksgiving, Shona had an aneurism in her lung and was rushed to the hospital. She survived the animism but contracted pneumonia during her stay that eventually developed into other complications. She had all appearances of recovering when suddenly she took a turn for the worse and she died. I still cannot believe it. Our nephew and my oldest son are very close. They are favorite cousins. My son Noel was in Wesley’s wedding. Wesley and Shona and their children have stayed in our home while visiting in Texas. Shona’s death was totally unexpected. How devastating this must be on Wesley and their two children of eight and thirteen years of age. And, to happen at Christmas is particularly tragic. However, this tragedy magnifies the message of this season. For it was into a world of despair and hopelessness that the Child came to redeem man and bring meaning to life. At this moment in our lives when life itself seems to be meaningless, we can look to the promise of the Christ Child and see the promise of life through our despair. What do you say to a man and his children who have lost their wife and mother? There is very little you can say. You don’t even try. You just love them and let them see the love and hope of the Christmas season in your actions. After all, the true message of Christmas was sent to us to last a lifetime, not just a single buying season. So, we will go to Oklahoma. We will observe the traditions that come with the passing of our loved ones. We will do this in honor of the one we have lost and in support of the ones who have been left behind. But, my house and I will do it because we love them and because we believe there is a greater promise that God has given those who choose to believe. We will not go to say, “goodbye”; but, rather we go to say, “until we meet again.” Did you know the word ‘merry’ in our greeting of Merry Christmas comes from an early 15 century context that means ‘mighty.’ (http://www.acecollins.com/christmastraditi.html ) The verse of the old Christmas song that says, “God rest ye merry gentlemen” was not referring to a group of red-nosed party makers. No, it was referring to men of courage and strength; it was referring to ‘mighty’ gentlemen. And so as we greet one another with our “Merry Christmas” salutation, we are actually wishing each other to have a Christmas full of power and might. After all, what God did for us on that still night in Bethlehem was done in power and might and gives to us the same promise for our tomorrows. Especially so in times of great sorrow, when we need His power and might most. Have a very Merry Christmas. |
| Title: One Long Piece of Thread Date: December 21, 2008, Sunday Thought: It is interesting how we humans divide and categorize everything. Give us a pile of gizmos and we will sort them and package them in some logical fashion. Jog: I’m staring at Christmas just down the road. I’m still not ready for it. I haven’t bought a dang present yet and my boxes of decorations still sit in the hallway where I retrieved them from the attic. I’m thinking, if I don’t get them out, I’ll save a lot of time putting them back in there. Now, this has nothing to do with the spirit of Christmas. I still love the season, it’s just that I haven’t gotten into it in a big way this year—and probably won’t. However, I’m looking forward to Christmas Eve, when our children and their children will be in the house. There’s something rewarding about a house full of family—grandkids particularly. It’s sort of an affirmation that you did something right all those years you were stumbling through life scared and confused. If that’s true, then Linda and I indeed did something right. And, the beautiful thing about it is that it will last right on through Christmas. It’s a gift that just keeps on giving. It is interesting how we humans divide and categorize everything. Give us a pile of gizmos and we will sort them and package them in some logical fashion. We do that also with time. We package the seconds into minutes, the minutes into hours, the hours into days, the days into years and so on. Time is really more of a long continuous spool of thread. It comes with a beginning and an end. Any packaging is of our own making, to try to make it manageable to us. There are no milestones on a spool of thread. There are no annual birthdays nor any New Years days. The passing of one year into the other has no real significance, other than as a tool of measurement. Why we believe we must measure it is a mystery. And although it may appear that I have totally jumped to a different subject, a sure sign of old age, I haven’t. I’ve just come to a place where the passing of one year into another is not really a significant thing. It’s just a point on a long continuous spool of thread. So, I’m not too concerned this year with getting out the decorations and ushering the new year. They are still memorable and meaningful, but right now all they are is just a spot on a spool of thread. Perhaps I will shake loose from this malaise I have found myself in recently. I am more than ready. I feel like I need a change of perspective to do so. You know, get a new job, find a new hobby, move to a new place—something like that. And, then perhaps all I need to do is get a new attitude. Yeah, that’ll probably be just as good and a dang-site cheaper. Merry Christmas everyone! |
| Title: I Love Christmas Date: December 19, 2008, Friday Thought: I love Christmas. I love everything about it Jog: I love Christmas. I love everything about it. Now, I don’t love what commerce has tried to do to it. You know, the “buy, buy, buy” baloney that has gripped our culture. Purchasing a few gifts here and there is OK. But buying stuff that you can’t afford for kids that don’t appreciate the stuff is a little ridiculous. The day Christmas became more about receiving than giving was a very sad day, indeed. To me that is not Christmas; that’s something else. I love Christmas. I love seeing families get together for the Christmas Eve meal, at least that’s how it’s done in our house. I like the feelings we have as we see everybody there. I even like the nostalgia and sadness we feel for those who are not with us any longer. That simply means they were loved and are missed. It hurts; but it’s good to keep those memories alive. I love hearing the Christmas carols and hearing folks say Merry Christmas to each other. I like the sound of bells ringing and knowing there is a big kettle where I can toss in a few coins to be used for someone less fortunate than I am. I don’t always toss a few coins in, but I do it enough to feel I’ve contributed. I love to see the lines of children waiting for their turn to sit on Santa’s lap and ask for their heart’s desire. I love the twinkle of wonderment in the eyes of kids who have not lost the ability to hope for what they want most. And most of all I love the excitement of the opening of the presents, whenever you open them. I love Christmas. I love seeing the story of the Christ child in Christmas plays acted out by grade school children. I love sitting in church and hearing devotional messages about the meaning of Christmas. I love my faith and am not afraid to proclaim it. I don’t send cards that say Holiday Greetings. All my cards say Merry Christmas! That’s why I love Christmas. I love Christmas because of the promise that it brings to people. Forget the commercialism, forget the gifts, forget the lines and the lights and the tinsel. Just remember the way it makes you feel. Remember the joy that it brings when a heart is open to it. Remember the tenderness of a baby in a manger and the love that was given to that child. And then, remember the reason that baby came to us, of the love for us that brought him here. And that, my friends is why I love Christmas…and always will. |
| Title: On Getting to Second Base Date: December 16, 2008, Wednesday Thought: It only took them three weeks to send back the rejection letter; or so I thought. Jog: The old saying goes, “nothing ventured nothing gained.” That simply means you will never know if you don’t try. So, recently, I determined I would test the water and see if there was any interest in my book, Across the River. I sent out a couple of query letters to publishers, fully expecting them to send back their responses saying, “Thank you but we are not interested in any Westerns.” Yesterday I received a response from one of the publishing companies. It only took them three weeks to send back the rejection letter; or so I thought. Upon opening the letter I was surprised to find a comment that said, “Your story has piqued our interest. Please send us the first three chapters and a synopsis of the book.” I was pleasantly surprised to find at least they are interested in seeing what I have. Of course they can look at the chapters and say, “Oops, this is not what we expected—sorry.” But, on the other hand, at least they are interested in taking the second step. And that my friends is encouraging. This pleasant occurrence has encouraged me to consider other works I have completed. I have another book that is half finished. Maybe this will be the incentive for me to finish it. Surely, if I can get interest in one book I can get interest in another. That of course, does not mean either one of them will be published. But, perhaps what I need to do is keep on writing and keep on sending the things out. Surely someday one of them will be selected. Who knows? At least I have gotten to second base. And, when I was a young kid, getting to second base was a really exciting thing. |
| Title: The Annual Christmas Story Date: December 16, 2008, Tuesday Thought: So, I did it. I wrote a dang story. Jog: Every Christmas I get sucked in to one of the contests on WDC. This year is no different. While browsing through the site yesterday I found a contest requesting a Christmas story. There were little rules other than to keep it below 5000 words, and of course it had to be about Chrstmas. So, I did it. I wrote a dang story. This is a writer's community after all. I must admit it is a little bit different. The setting is Death Row, which is much different than the setting in my living room. Anyway, it is there for competition. And, it is here if you wish to take a gander at it.
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| Title: The Economy and Wal-Mart Date: December 13, 2008, Saturday Thought: I have to confess, I have spent hours among the aisles of Wal-Mart and have yet to spend a dollar in Macy’s. Jog: (Warning: the following entry deals with the stock market. I’ve found when I blog on this topic in here, almost nobody seems to comment. I mean, it is really pretty boring. But, regardless, I think there is something interesting here and forge on with the entry anyway.) The NASDAQ is an American stock exchange that lists over 3,200 companies. The combined profit and loss from these companies pretty much signifies what is happening in the American economy. When the combined 3,200 companies post a profit for the day, they say the market is up. When it posts a loss, the market is down. The character of the NASDAQ is that it experiences ups and downs continually throughout the year. When the thing posts more ups than downs over a period of time, we generally say we are in a Bull market; similarly, when it posts more downs than ups we generally consider it as being a Bear market. It’s a little more complex than that; but, that’s generally the gist of it. As some of you may know, I invest in the market. Usually, I purchase strong mutual funds. We generally consider them as being relatively safe, since it is unlikely that all the stocks in a given portfolio will be having a bad time. If you research the market really well, you can easily find strong mutual funds that return as much as 30% on your dollar, at least until this year—last July and August to be more particular. Since July, almost all funds have taken a nosedive; some of them losing as much as 65% of their value. Depending on how much money you have invested, that could be a substantial amount. Regardless of how much money you invest, a 65% loss is significant. Now, I monitor this daily. When the market showed signs of tanking, I sold all my funds and placed them in money market accounts, which draw very little interest, but do not experience the loss that the market sees. My personal loss was very little, other than the disappointment that my dollars are not working for me and are just sitting by waiting for the market to go up again. And, that is what I am doing, watching the market and tracking the signals. Believe it or not, the market actually is beginning to show signs of bottoming out. It has not turned and taken significant steps upward again; but is lingering in a holding pattern, threatening to rise again. I will watch and wait for a positive sign so that I can jump in again. Now the reason for this long narrative about the market is to tell you something interesting I found while researching a number of individual stocks. I happened to make a comparison of Wal-Mart and Macy’s. You are familiar with the two stores. Both sell a variety of products. One caters to lower and middle class America and the other to middle and upper class America. I have to confess, I have spent hours among the aisles of Wal-Mart and have yet to spend a dollar in Macy’s. Macy’s is found in the malls and downtowns of urban American and Wal-Mart is generally found in small town America, away from the metropolitan market. Some have called Wal-Mart the “poor man’s Macy’s.” Nevertheless, I thought it would be interesting to track the economic fortunes of these two companies through the last twelve-month period of the recent market plummet. What I found was that Macy’s tracks almost exactly with the NASDAQ. The misfortune of the other 3,200 companies has been shared by Macy’s. However, that is not the case with Wal-Mart. Over the last twelve-month period, Wal-Mart has more than held its own economically, it has prospered. As of yet, Wal-Mart is the only company that I’ve found that has experienced a positive growth rate. I’ve included three charts to show this fact. Below you will find the twelve-month chart for Wal-Mart, Macy’s, and NASDAQ. It is easy to see the difference in the trends. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Now, I ask you, “What does that mean?” Well, it tells me that the hope of our nation is not found in the large corporate upscale companies of this nation. It does not lie in the fortunes of General Motors or Ford. It lies in the fortunes of the common everyday folks who walk the aisles of stores like Wal-Mart. That’s where the purchasing power is. When times are tough and we have fewer dollars, these folks will look for the bargains at Wal-Mart on which to spend their money. When these folks are out of work and need to stretch the dollar, you’ll find them in Wal-Mart. The day these stores fold up and close their doors will be a dark day in our economy. That’s the day I will be worried. That is not today. Times are tough now. But, by what I’ve seen in my research, we are in the midst of a cycle that promises to swing back the other way. I believe things will start to get better next year. In spite of what Barak does, the market will correct itself and the economy will improve, without the help of Congress or the Dems or the Republicans. It is the market cycle that has the power. Barak, Pelosi, Reed, and Franks will claim the credit when it turns; that’s how politics works. But they have very little to do with it. I don’t know what will happen in the short term. I don’t know exactly when the market will begin to improve. There are much smarter men than me who are watching this thing. But, I have confidence that it will. Heck, I just wish I had a lot of money available to invest today; stocks are on sale. But, I’m gonna keep my eye on Wal-Mart. As long as it is going strong, I’m not going to worry much. I just wish the media would stop promoting the doom and gloom of the economy and report on the coming windfall of the looming Bull market. I’m looking forward to the ride. |
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